Ma Zhaodi thought he had already gotten used to life in Gotham.
He had been working in Gotham for an entire week. He had seen shootouts, criminals, gangs, a superhero, a future supervillain, plenty of poor people from the lower classes, and wealthy upper-class citizens. He had even gotten used to falling asleep every night while staring at the upside-down men hanging from the gargoyles.
Come on, the way they were posed really did look like hypnotists performing hypnosis.
To be honest, aside from the occasional perverted customer attracted by this face, he almost felt like he had adapted to the city. At the very least, he had somewhat adapted to its madness.
He was wrong.
That day, he got off work as usual and carried his wheelchair through the alley. But before he could make it upstairs, a man's voice suddenly rang out beside him.
"Hey, bro, give me your wheelchair."
"?"
Ma Zhaodi, who had just been about to go home, mentally froze for several seconds.
It wasn't as if he had never seen robbers before. Robbers were common in the East End. It was just that most people who robbed others followed the same routine and had the same goals. This man's approach, however, seemed remarkably original.
"Um... Let me make sure I understand." Ma Zhaodi cautiously pointed at the wheelchair in his hands. "You want to rob my wheelchair?"
The gun-wielding robber wore a smug, vicious grin. "That's right! Give it to me! Everyone in the East End and Audisburg District knows that there's some damn Ghost Fire guy racing around the streets every night! I know what you use to move so fast every day. I know that's a treasure!"
Ma Zhaodi was somewhat confused. "If I may be frank, you could rob a car and get around just as fast. Why are you so fixated on my wheelchair?"
The genius froze for several seconds. The expression on his face changed from vicious to thoughtful, then from thoughtful to bewildered.
This was hilarious.
"R-regardless!" he stammered. "Give me your wheelchair!"
"Speaking from personal experience, this wheelchair may be dangerous for ordinary people—"
"Bang!"
"I said give me the damn thing!"
Ma Zhaodi twitched at the corner of his mouth and looked toward the wall. The bullet had grazed past him and left a bullet hole in the wall, only a few inches from his head.
This was the more-than-tenth shooting he had encountered in Gotham that week.
To be honest, it was like sensitivity training. The danger was certainly nerve-racking, but after experiencing it repeatedly, he really did become somewhat numb. Ma Zhaodi had gone from being dumbfounded, to apprehensive, to forcing himself to remain calm. By now, he had developed a little resistance.
"Here. Go ahead." With the gun pointed at him, he decisively stopped talking nonsense, lest the impatient man blow his head off.
It wasn't that he had become a coward. After all, he had never faced a gun directly during the previous incidents. He had hidden in corners or lurked in the shadows. A direct confrontation like this, standing face-to-face with a loaded gun, was unquestionably far more dangerous than before.
"And the money and clothes on you. Give me all of them!"
"I can give you the money, but at least let me keep my clothes, right?"
"Quit your damn yapping! Take them off!"
What the hell? This is too much!
Fury surged in Ma Zhaodi's heart. He promptly took off his jacket, leaving himself in only a shirt and trousers. Finally, he pulled his driver's license from the jacket and removed the SIM card from his phone.
"Fine, fine. I only have two pieces of clothing left on me. Take my money and get lost."
"Give me your gun too—"
"Bang."
A sudden gunshot interrupted the robbery. A tall, heavily built man holding a gun walked up beside them and spat on the ground.
"That was my damn gun, you son of a bitch."
The robber clutched his hand and groaned in pain. The big man's bullet had shattered the gun in his hand, leaving a bloody hole in his palm as well.
"Get lost!"
At the sight of the big man's vicious glare, the robber immediately abandoned any thought of resisting. He hurriedly grabbed the jacket lying to one side, quickly sat down in the wheelchair, and didn't dare reach for Ma Zhaodi's wallet or phone. Instead, he frantically pressed the buttons on the wheelchair and quickly disappeared around the street corner.
"He seems to have a real talent for driving a wheelchair, but I still wouldn't recommend he push the speed up to—"
"Give me my damn gun back." Clinton cut off Ma Zhaodi's rambling. "Don't change the subject. If you don't have the guts to use it, don't keep it."
"It was just an ordinary Beretta, okay? It hasn't even been modified." While protesting, Ma Zhaodi obediently handed over the gun. "You make it sound like some peerless killing weapon."
"Shut up." He tucked the revolver and the well-worn Beretta back into his waistband. Yet instead of asking where the other, newer Colt was, he spat at Ma Zhaodi's feet. "I waited at Old Jack's for a whole damn week. You piece of shit didn't have the guts to show yourself. You sat on a damn wheelchair like some lunatic from Arkham Asylum and raced around the streets."
"Coward."
For fuck's sake!
In a fit of anger, Ma Zhaodi viciously put his jacket back on, shoved his driver's license and phone into his pockets, then turned and headed upstairs.
Of course he was angry, but there was no need to stoop to the level of a brute like that. He had only been insulted a few times. It wasn't as if he had lost a piece of flesh.
What if he insulted him back and really did lose a piece of flesh? Drake had gone red-hot after insulting him last time.
Clinton gave him a disdainful look but didn't stop him. Instead, he turned and left.
"Gotham is full of damn cowards."
"Gotham is full of damn idiots and lunatics."
Ma Zhaodi angrily complained to Drake, "All I did was drive a wheelchair home, and someone still targeted me. He even tried to rob me at gunpoint! What the hell? Can a wheelchair really go faster than a car?"
"Based on the time you get off work and arrive home, your wheelchair's speed yesterday exceeded that of ninety percent of Gotham's insane drivers." Drake expressionlessly checked his watch. "It's 10:14 p.m. You went upstairs at 10:13. Assuming the robbery downstairs took three minutes, you only spent ten minutes getting home."
"Ah, well, not exactly." Ma Zhaodi smiled sheepishly. "I got home in nine minutes."
"What exactly are you so proud of?"
Drake shook his head. "Your speed is a full quarter faster than before. If this continues, I really worry that one day I'll see a news report saying, 'Gotham's Overspeed Ghost Fire Wheelchair rear-ends a supercar and gets smashed into a pancake.'"
"Whatever. It got stolen anyway." Ma Zhaodi unhappily ate the food left for him on the table. "What a shame. I put so much effort into modifying that wheelchair. It could reach a top speed of a hundred and sixty."
And Advanced Wheelchair Driving Mastery, which had cost five hundred points.
Meanwhile, on the silent streets of the East End late at night, a streak of multicolored light shot past while screaming.
"Stop aaahhh—this ** wheelchair!"
Duang!
The next day, Ma Zhaodi left for work early. Drake, meanwhile, was eating breakfast while reading the Gotham Daily. Suddenly, a news headline on the paper caught his eye.
"Gotham urban legend 'Overspeed Ghost Fire Wheelchair' rear-ends Wayne executive. The wheelchair driver is currently being pieced and stitched back together."
"Pfft!"
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